


Monsoon Season

by hopeless_romantic_spoonie



Category: Kong: Skull Island (2017)
Genre: Briefest mention of violence and blood, Consensual Sex, F/M, Only One Bed, Sharing a Bed, Smut, tiny bit of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2020-12-26 23:21:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21108842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopeless_romantic_spoonie/pseuds/hopeless_romantic_spoonie
Summary: When a rogueish British ex-soldier saves you from a sticky situation, you find yourself in his flat, clothes soaking wet with only one bed for the both of you.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yespolkadot_kitty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yespolkadot_kitty/gifts).

> This was originally an ask for yespolkadot_kitty on tumblr that got away from me! I don't think either of us intended for it to be this long! I hope you enjoy. :)

You were lost, at the peak of monsoon season, in a country where you didn’t speak the language, in the middle of the night.

To put it mildly, you were screwed.

You had been following the rest of your team back to your seedy motel when you were separated by a man on a motorcycle who had no regard for where the road ended and the sidewalk began. Then a mother had sprinted in front of you with her two children in tow, running from the lightning that flashed menacingly in the sky. And then a group of rowdy teenagers had crossed your path.

By the time you were free to continue on, your fellow scientists were nowhere to be found. You didn’t speak a lick of Vietnamese to ask for help, and your stumbling around the neon-lit street didn’t get you anywhere except lost. Just when you thought the situation couldn’t get worse, the heavens opened up and torrential rain poured down on you, hot and heavy through your thin summer clothing.

Every curse word under the sun fell from your lips as you ducked into the nearest open doorway. Your shoes squeaked and stuck to the sticky bar floor as you moved away from the door hesitantly, taking in the patrons milling about, illuminated by the dark red light that did nothing to hide the drugs changing hands or the glazed look in the eyes of scantily-clad women as they disappeared behind curtains with leering men.

You did _not_ belong here.

Gulping down the fear that crawled up your throat, your hands fisted at your sides as you turned on your heel, intent upon leaving. The thunderstorm outside seemed a safer bet. But a large man stood in the doorway, his arms folded as he looked down at you with a hunger that made your skin crawl - not in a good way. You backed up, eyes wide, only to collide with another body, sticky with sweat and reeking of stale alcohol and cigarettes. 

You whipped around, not understanding what he grumbled at you, but the way his eyes traveled up and down your body and the bruising grip he held on your wrist was not to be misunderstood. Panic seized your mind as you babbled incoherently at him, shaking your head back and forth, vaguely aware that your voice was rising in volume and pitch but uncaring.

A man stalked from out of the shadows, towering over all the other patrons, his light eyes hard as steel as they focused on the man holding you captive. You watched with mouth open wide in shock as his hand curled into a fist into the shirt of his target, yanking him away from you and tossing him onto the floor with as much ceremony as one would a bag of trash.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his richly accented voice sin wrapped in sandpaper, both soothing your frazzled nerves and coaxing your libido to life.

You didn’t have time to answer, as the behemoth of a man who had been guarding the door shoved you out of the way, knocking you to the ground. Danger practically radiated through his rigid frame, coiled tight as he glared daggers at the man. He moved so quickly that you couldn’t follow, only catching the whip of his fist followed by a grunt, or the twist of his torso that ended up with his opponent sprawled out on the dirty floor before him.

He approached you cautiously, hands held in palms up in front of him in a clear show of peace, kneeling beside you. “It isn’t safe for you here. More will be coming. Where are you staying?”

You had only just arrived that day, and you couldn’t remember the name of the motel for the life of you. When you stammered that out to him, his brow furrowed and he ducked his head with a sigh of exasperation. When he lifted it again, his jaw was set beneath the scruff of a beard several days overdue of a shave, his brow furrowed in determination.

More men burst into the bar, shouting furiously and pointing in your direction. Your dashing protector grasped your hands and pulled you up, ducking his head so that he could look into your eyes. “Stay close to me and do not let go of my hand. Understood?”

He didn’t wait for your frantic nod, tugging you out of the bar and into the downpour outside. Your eyes stayed on his broad shoulders as you jogged behind him, watching his back flex and shift beneath the soaked linen of his shirt. He led you down streets that only seemed to become narrower and narrower with each twist and turn. You followed him willingly deeper into the labyrinthian alleys and thoroughfares that you had no hope of escaping should he decide to leave you to fend for yourself.

But he seemed to have no intention of doing so. That was made clear when he suddenly turned to you and pressed you into the wall beneath a balcony overhang, shielding your body from view with his. His forearms caged you in and his head hung low, his forehead brushing yours as he panted lightly into the humid air between you. Water dripped down the hard planes of his face onto yours, clinging to his light eyelashes and wetting his lips set into a thin line. “We’re being followed. You seem to have piqued the interest of some unsavory characters, or they are thoroughly upset at my thrashing of their fellow ruffians. Do exactly as I do.”

With no option but to trust him, you nodded, the small motion rubbing the damp skin of your forehead against his. His eyes met yours, cool blue of the sea before a storm, steadying you with the confident assurance you found within their depths. His hand found yours, engulfing it and almost searing with its heat, and you were off once again.

You followed him as closely as a shadow, your slip-on shoes slapping out against the wet pavement lost to the thunder and rainfall that deafened you. When he stopped and flattened himself to a wall, doing the same to you with a hand splayed across your stomach, you waited for his signal with your stomach heaving beneath his staying touch. He seemed to see everything at once, his keen eyes darting around, calculating and methodical. How he could see anything at all through this rain was beyond you.

You were doing a fairly decent job at keeping up with him, until you stumbled over a bit of uneven pavement, losing your shoe in the process. It was at that moment that he silently urged you faster, leaving you no room to protest as the gritty pavement bit into the soft sole of your foot.

Only when you ducked into a stairwell and climbed three flights of stairs did he slow, turning to look at you with a brow raised in concern. “Alright there, miss?”

You released his hand to brace yourself against the rough concrete wall, lifting your bare foot to reveal the bloodied underside. Something had caught the skin of your foot along the way, and you winced as you flexed your toes experimentally. “Lost my shoe somewhere back there.”

He made a deep sound of displeasure, crouching down beside you to take in your injury, holding onto your ankle with gentle fingers. Shaking his head, he righted himself and slipped his arm around your torso, his fingers curling around your ribs. “My flat is just up ahead. If it’s agreeable, I can tend to it there?”

“That’d be nice, thanks. Who knows what’s on those streets.”

He nodded, forehead creased in thought as he cast another glance around you before briskly walking you both forward. Now that you had slowed down and you had a moment to breathe, each step felt like hot knives stabbing up your leg, and you did your best to stifle your quiet whimper behind your bottom lip caught between your teeth.

He must have heard it, because without a second thought he slipped one arm behind your knees, lifting you up into his arms with very little effort on his part. You squeaked in surprise, your hands flying around his neck for stability. Somehow he managed to walk the rest of the way to his door and open it without dropping you.

His apartment was pitch black, and he carefully sat you down on something soft just a few steps inside before covering your lips with a calloused fingertip. “Hush for one moment,” he shushed you, and you strained to pick up the quiet sound of his boots as he shifted about the apartment.

Whatever assessment that he felt necessary to conduct must have turned up favorably, because several agonizing moments later a lamp flicked on next to you, bathing the room in a pale yellow light.

It was small, the space cramped with only a coffee table and the modest chair you were seated upon taking up what could be considered the living room. A kitchenette was visible over his shoulder as he knelt before you, next to which stood a closed door. There weren’t any personal effects, nothing that suggested anyone even lived there, save for a small stack of books on the table and a plate drying over the sink. It was clean, well-kept, even the age of the items belied by the care given to them.

“May I?” he asked, pulling your focus back to him.

You blamed the humidity and oppressive heat for the difficulty you had in catching your breath, instead of the earnest concern that knitted his brow as he looked up to you, his hands held out to receive your injured foot. Flushing both from the exertion and a sudden wave of embarrassment at his scrutiny, you carefully lifted it to him, only for him to gently settle your heel on his knee, steadying you.

You watched him as he worked, an open emergency medical kit at his side, fully and thoroughly stocked with much more than what was standard issue. He was efficient, but still careful, mindful not to put too much pressure on the nasty-looking gash. He was just as soaked to the bone as you were, his blue linen shirt stuck to his skin, revealing impressive muscles for his frame that flexed pleasantly with his every movement and breath. Your eyes fell to the triangle of tanned chest revealed by his shirt, the top two buttons undone. A water droplet rolled down his neck and disappeared beneath the fabric, and you tamped down the sudden inexplicable urge to trace its journey with your tongue.

He was _beautiful_, in a rogueish way that made you wonder if the harsh lines around his eyes softened when he was lost to the throes of the basest pleasures.

It occurred to you, while you were tracing his cheekbones so sharp they had to cut glass with your eyes, that you didn’t even know his name.

“James Conrad,” he suddenly murmured, as if he had been reading your thoughts. He offered you a quick smile and a curt nod before lowering your foot back to the floor. He stood, his back ramrod straight, offering his large hand to you once again. “And your name, miss?”

You took his hand and gave him your name, taking his assistance gratefully to rise to your feet. The bandages he had wrapped around the injury helped lessen some of the pain, and it would do nicely to protect it from bacteria. This close to him you had to crane your neck to look up at him. The scent of him drifted to you, pine and alcohol and something inherently masculine that made your mouth water.

Your name on his lips broke through your thoughts, sounding like both a question and a curse as he stared down at you. Emotions warred in his eyes, too many to give a name to, but his thumb stroked over your knuckles lightly. He hadn’t let go of your hand. You shivered at the intimacy of the gesture, desire flashing over your skin like a cool breeze on such a balmy night.

“Oh, pardon me. You’re absolutely drenched. I must insist that you stay here for the evening, and then I can assist you in finding your lodging tomorrow morning? I can find you something dry to wear, and then you can sleep in the bedroom.” He paused, taking a step away from you. You instantly missed the closeness, and you leaned forward just a bit to seek out his touch. Your hand fell limply to your side. “The door locks from the inside.”

As if you had any other option. “Oh, thanks.”

Every movement he made was measured, sure, as if his mind was several steps ahead of his body. That combined with his sharp gaze and rigid posture spoke volumes where his words did not.

“Military?”

He paused in the doorway of the bedroom, holding a bundle of clothing in his arms. One brow ticked up on his forehead as he peered up at you from beneath long lashes. “Former British SAS.”

That would explain it - the assertiveness in his command and the knowledge that lingered in his gaze. You nodded, taking the proffered clothing with an appreciative smile. You shifted on your feet uneasily, wondering where you should change, a blush staining your cheeks as you thought of undressing before James. When nothing was offered, you spoke up. “You wanna turn around there, solider?”

“Pardon me.”

Your eyes lingered on his back for a moment longer than necessary, following the slope of his broad shoulders down the dip of his spine to a narrow waist. The situation wasn’t ideal, but you found yourself lucky for more than one reason that he had been the one to pull you out of it. Quickly, you stripped out of your sopping wet clothes, only nude for a moment slipping into the loose gray t-shirt and faded boxer shorts he offered you. There was something intimate about wearing his clothing, about smelling the faint scent of laundry detergent and pine so close to your skin, that set your nerves alight.

At your call, he took your wet clothing from you, arranging it over the coffee table so that they had the best chance of drying. You didn’t hold out much hope in the humidity, but the effort was thoughtful nonetheless. You followed him into the bedroom once he was finished, taking in the sparsely furnished room silently.

“I will take the chair out in the sitting room,” he said quietly, his hand lighting on your shoulder in parting before he moved to leave.

Your hand caught his wrist, light enough that he could break free if he wanted, but he didn’t. He turned back to you, his cool eyes staring straight through to your soul as he waited for you to speak. You had never felt so exposed and seen in your entire life.

Speaking around the sudden dryness in your throat, you released him to wave your hand toward the bed. “It’s big enough for the both of us. I would feel awful if I made you sleep in that chair when there’s plenty room here. You wouldn’t go through all this trouble just to hurt me, right?”

Fire lit in his gaze before he closed his eyes briefly. When they opened the expression was gone, replaced by a wariness that you instinctively knew went to his very core. “You would be foolish to trust a complete stranger.”

You sat down on the thin mattress, springy beneath you. “You laid out a man twice your size in the bar back there. You could break down that door if you really wanted to. At least this way I know that anyone who tries to come in has to go through you to get to me.”

You had tried for humor, but by the sternness of his expression, it hadn’t landed. He sat down on the other end of the bed, unlacing his boots. You averted your eyes when his hands went to the collar of his shirt, affording him the same privacy he had offered you. When the bed pitched beneath you, you rolled over onto your side, facing him in the room.

You were just able to make out the wild curls of his hair with the hazy red light that streamed in through the window, haloing him perfectly. The night’s events hit you suddenly, brought about by the light, and you clutched your hands tightly to your chest.

“James?”

“Yes?” his voice was just loud enough to fill the space between you, intimate and deep even as it was directed at the ceiling.

Memories of the hollow-eyed women flashed in your mind’s eye. “Thank you for saving me back there. I… I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn't.”

He must have felt your trembling shaking the bed, as he shifted so that he was on his side, reaching out in the darkness to clasp your hands comfortingly. The backs of his knuckles brushed against your chest, making your heart stutter against your ribcage. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

Maybe it was the adrenaline that had flooded and left your system, or the dim lighting playing against the line of his shoulder, or the gentle rub of his thumb over the back of your hand. But you felt emboldened, your curiosity driving you as you shifted closer to him on the bed, lining up the lean length of his body against yours. The brush of the hair on his legs, so very male, tightened the muscles of your abdomen pleasantly.

His breath hitched in his throat. “It was only polite, what was right.”

You lifted your entwined hands to your mouth, brushing his hand across your lips. He was faintly salty, but also sweet, addictive. Would his kiss taste the same?

You propped yourself up on one elbow, daring as you lifted a hand to drag across his cheekbone to brush a stray lock of hair back into place. “Are you always so polite, James?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps James Conrad isn't so polite after all.

“Polite?” he leaned into your touch for the shortest of moments before his head fell back to the pillow. “Not always. But when the situation calls for it, yes.”

The neon glow that trickled into the room reflected off of his eyes, losing the lightness in them but revealing his scrutinizing stare as he looked up at you. Digging deep for a boldness that you didn’t normally possess, driven by the desire that had been lingering on the edges of your thoughts, you let your hand fall to his chest. Your fingers toyed with the soft undershirt he wore slowly. “And what does the situation call for now?”

He exhaled a short laugh that didn’t match the uptick of his heartbeat beneath your explorative touch. “Rest. You’ve had a trying day, and I’m sure your colleagues are concerned about you. We will want to seek them out as soon as possible in the morning.”

Rejection stung, settling like a lead weight in your stomach that smothered the hopeful torch you had been burning for him since you first laid eyes on him. Patting his chest twice, you rolled over, placing your back to him. And despite the humid heat that clung to you like a second skin, you fell asleep, the exhaustion of your first day in the foreign country too great for your mild discomfort to overcome.

When you woke some hours later, it was still dark outside, and you suspected the culprit for your wakened state had to do with the sweat that slicked your skin where James had wrapped his body around yours. Your shirt had slipped up in the night, revealing your stomach where his arm now rested heavily across it, and your legs were entwined together intimately. You were especially aware of his thigh pressed against your core, heavy and hot.

It was doing nothing but stoke the flames of desire back to life within you.

Bracing for disappointment, you lifted your hand from the bed to fall onto his back, rubbing it gently to wake him.

He woke with a start, rocketing up to straddle your hips, his hands propping him up over you on either side of your head. His eyes were hard, focused, as he glanced around the room, staring into the shadows.

“Easy there, easy,” you soothed, reaching up to smooth one hand over his chest beneath his collarbone, the other rubbing circles into the band of steel cables that comprised his bicep, taut and ready for an unseen enemy that lived only in his memories.

When his alert gaze finally fell down to you, you smiled softly despite your concern. “It’s just us, it’s okay. Hey there, soldier.”

The hard line of his back loosened, but only slightly, his held breath coming out in a rush as he sat back on his ankles, still holding your hips captive between his knees. “Apologies, miss.”

“Always so polite.” You smirked, letting your hands fall down to rest on his thighs, mostly bare to you for the shortness of his boxers.

His eyes blazed over your prone form, lighting a path on your skin that you could only hope he would extinguish with his touch. You were sure you looked a mess, skin glistening with sweat, hair mussed, dressed in his worn clothing, but you didn’t care. For once in your life you felt reckless, needy, and curious enough to give yourself to the man who slowly let a fingertip run down your arm to smooth over the back of your hand.

“What do you want, James? It’s okay…”

You could practically hear the gears turning in his head, but you gave him time, completely still beneath him. His temple ticked. Slowly but surely, the hardness left his eyes, replaced with a burning desire that made your thighs tighten in anticipation.

“Forget just being polite,” he growled, just before he pitched forward onto his hands on either side of you, dropping his head down to yours.

For the suddenness of the action, the kiss was soft, questioning, his plush lips molding to yours. Your hands skated up his body to slide beneath his undershirt, delighting in the clench of his lean muscles. He shuddered beneath your touch, and the kiss became harder, full of pent-up passion that tasted like salt and alcohol and sin as his tongue tangled with yours. He coaxed out soft gasps from you with the play of his hands up your sides, catching on the fabric of your borrowed shirt and tugging it up and over your head.

A moment of shyness overtook you in the soft darkness, the sudden rush of air hardening the tips of your breasts into pebbled peaks that ached for the relief of his touch, and your hands left him to cover your chest quickly.

The purse of his kiss-swollen lips, shiny in the glowing red light, drew your attention as he shushed your hesitancy quietly. “Perhaps I should make it even between us?”

Upon your confused nod, he sat back on his heels once again, tugging off his undershirt and dropping it behind him without much thought. He allowed you to look your fill, your eyes greedily dragging over every inch of exposed flesh, following in the furrows between the muscles that flexed across his torso with each shallow breath above you.

“Beautiful,” you breathed, voicing the only thought that resounded in your head at the glorious sight. He looked to be sculpted by the greatest artist, the ideal combination of agility and strength that promised surety of his body and the knowledge to use it.

He chuckled, the sound low and deep as he stretched out beside you, hooking one leg in between your own. His thigh found the place it had inhabited when you woke, applying steady pressure to the throbbing heat at your core. You squirmed, unable to stop your hips from pressing into him to increase the pleasant sensation.

The lust that darkened his eyes was unmistakable as he palmed one of your breasts, rolling a nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “Is this what you want, darling?”

Your hand found purchase in his slightly curled hair, scratching lightly along his scalp in a way that made his eyes flutter. “You,” you whispered, your words weak for the air that you couldn’t seem to pull from the room at his expert play of your breast. “I want _you_, Conrad.”

That seemed to be the only permission that he needed. He dipped his head to your unattended breast, capturing the hardened pebble in between his lips, sucking and nipping at the peak in turn. The rasp of his short beard against your delicate flesh only added to the eroticism of the intimate act. Shocks of electricity traveled down your writhing body to gather at your core, flooding you with pleasure that gathered in between your legs.

Your hands traveled down the great expanse of his back, sliding beneath his underwear to cup his backside, urging his hips to rock against you. The length of his arousal was insistent through the thin fabric, pushing into your thigh. Somehow you managed to slide your hand in between your rolling bodies to grasp him in your palm, stroking him lazily in a way that made him gasp your name against your skin.

In one efficient move, he released you from his grasp and divested you both of your underwear. He resumed his position once you were both fully bare to the other, tasting the flushed skin of your jaw as his hand ghosted down your torso, over your stomach, to tease over the wet heat at the juncture of your thighs.

Unabashed in your desire, your hips bucked upwards, seeking the friction you craved to ease the constant hum of electricity that surged through your veins. He licked over your rapid pulse on your neck, sighing when his fingers finally dipped into you. You inner muscles clenched around his long, thick fingers, desperate to hold him there and ease the ache he had created within you. He beckoned you to your release with the curl and thrust of his fingers, aided by the circling of his thumb over your throbbing pearl at the top of your sex.

You could only dig your fingers into the thin sheets as you fell into the abyss of your ecstasy, gasping for air and control and a hold onto the moment as your body clenched and trembled beneath him. He worked you through your orgasm, peppering your shoulder with light kisses and stroking his hand slowly inside of you.

When your back finally settled back on the bed from its bowed position, your eyes fluttered open with a lazy, contented smile on your lips. He kissed it away, tasting your passion with the sweep of his tongue inside your mouth. His body shifted over yours, and he swallowed your moan when he settled in the cradle of your thighs, his cock gliding in between your slick folds to press against your sensitive bundle of nerves with each rut of his hips.

“James, do you…?” You couldn’t continue your thought, capturing your bottom lip in between your teeth and arching your neck into his mouth as he explored the column of your neck in an open-mouthed caress that curled your toes.

“I am always prepared for _any_ situation,” he replied teasingly, grazing your skin with his teeth before rolling off of you, rummaging around in the bedside table for a condom. _Ever the soldier._

You tossed your arm over your forehead, attempting to gather your wits about you in the brief intermission, but the sight of him sliding the thin rubber protection over his length, stroking himself a few times after the hasty process, sucked all the moisture from your mouth to gush between your thighs. 

His eyes glittered in the darkness, his smile wicked as he came back to you, sliding his arms between your back and the mattress to hook his hands over your shoulders. He nudged at your slick opening with his head, teasing you, making you whine from deep in your throat.

“Please, James, please…”

His forehead came to rest against yours and he nudged your nose with his, an affectionate gesture so at odds with the obscene cant of his hips against yours. “If the lady insists.”

And your hands scrambled for purchase along his body, gripping onto the angles of his shoulder blades as he slowly slid within you. He was much bigger than he had felt in your hand, and your forehead pushed into his as you held your breath, letting it out in broken pants once he was fully seated inside of you. He was _big_, searing you with the length and thickness of his erection, and it was all you could do to draw in a ragged gasp when his hips involuntarily twitched from the spasm of your inner walls.

“Are you alright?” he questioned, unwrapping one arm from around you to push a lock of hair from your face tenderly.

You squeezed yourself around him, testing the waters, and his answering moan rumbled through his chest into yours. His head fell beside yours. “May I take that as a yes?”

“I thought you said forget about being polite,” you teased, running a hand down to his backside to push him deeper into you. “Take me, James. _Please_.”

It was like a switch flicked inside of him. He sat up on his knees, his hands wrapping around your thighs to angle you into position, before he began thrusting into you in a punishing pace. Your eyes reveled in the sight of him, his head tilted back toward the ceiling, his lips parted to send his moans of pleasure to the ceiling. The arch of his neck in the crimson neon light was enthralling, capturing your attention until he hit just the right spot inside of you that made liquid heat shoot through your limbs, shuttering your eyes to the intensity of it.

You were sent careening into orgasm, blood roaring in your ears and back bowing as if you could escape the mind-numbing magnitude of it. Static spread over your skin as you melted into the bed, languid and liquid, slowly becoming aware of him shifting so that his weight was put on his straight arms by your sides.

The new position seemed to be just what he needed to chase his own bliss, judging by the furrow in his forehead and the scrunch of the skin around his clenched eyes. You squeezed around him in time with his erratic thrusts and splayed your hands across his chest. “Let go. It’s okay.”

Your name was shouted to the heavens in time with stuttering thrusts into you before he stilled, his entire body going taut with his throbbing release that you felt deep inside. He fell onto the bed beside you, disposing of the protection before pulling you against his side.

You settled underneath his arm, laying your arm across his flat stomach and pressing your lips over his speeding heartbeat in his throat. He nuzzled into your hair with a contented sigh that washed over you, a mixture of pride and satisfaction buzzing happily deep in your sated bones.

“I truly hadn’t meant for that to be the outcome of the evening,” he confessed with a huff of a laugh.

You tilted your head up to peck a chaste kiss to his lips. “I hadn’t either. But what was I, an innocent civilian, meant to do when rescued by a handsome stranger with a devilishly distracting voice and a statuesque body?”

The expression in his eyes was nothing but fond and tender as he smiled down at you, his deft fingers tracing lazy circles over your hip and in the dip of your spine. “I am glad that it was I who came to your aid, if this is how you show your gratitude.”

You draped your thigh over his waist with a shake of your head. “You wound me, sir. I wouldn’t come to bed with just anyone. No, you’re…” You sought the proper word as your eyes traced over the handsome planes of his face to settle on his eyes. They gleamed with adoration that wrapped around your heart and squeezed. “You’re special, James Conrad. Good, even with the rough edges.”

His hug was all-encompassing, pressing your bodies together securely, nothing sensual about the action. The decommissioned soldier beneath you was safety personified, and the band of his arms around your back was a balm on the lonely ache that you hadn’t even realized existed until he had come along.

“How long are you in Vietnam?”

You let your fingernails play with the whiskers covering the sharp edge of his jaw idly. “Two months.”

He rolled your bodies carefully, pinning you beneath him, his thumbs stroking the sides of your head from his forearms on either side of you. “May I see you again?”

“You can’t get rid of me _that_ easily, soldier boy.”

He laughed, an open, elated sound that warmed you in ways his expert touch could not. He nuzzled his nose against yours and tickled your ribs, your laughter joined his, drowning out the pouring rain and rolling thunder that couldn’t touch either of you for the bubble of peace you had created.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad that yespolkadot_kitty requested for me to branch out and write Conrad. He is such a delight to write! I hope you all enjoyed reading as much as I did creating this piece.


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